CHAPTER X. THE NURSE TAKES A CHANCE
Parkins' escape from death owed itself to a surgeon's skill, the operation upon his head having been successful. Now he sat up in bed, after seven days at the Sawyer home. He talked very little, but the furtive roving of his eyes during his wakeful hours denoted his mental activity. Aside from the injuries to his head, all harmful results had disappeared. The wound on his scalp was rapidly closing up, and according to the surgeon, would never be noticed, owing to the dense growth of his hair. Roached back and parted nearer the middle, the wound would be obscured. According to both doctors, another week would find him strong enough to walk about the grounds, but Parkins secretly knew that he had plenty strength with which to escape. He had no way of knowing Villard's views concerning him, but he was aware that Updyke only visited places where something unusual was going on. He could feel without seeing the Villard satellites—minions of the law!—they were unremitting. So far as they could prevent there would be no chance for his escape.
One thing Parkins had done well. He had made a fast friend of his day nurse. By degrees he had won her confidence, until finally he asked her if she would not prefer a good salary as his housekeeper rather than slave on as a nurse.
"I'd go mad with such work on my hands," said he. "Only the faithfulness of kind-hearted women toward those who suffer makes life worth living. How much do you average per week?" he inquired abruptly.
"Oh, it's hard to tell, all owing to circumstances. In order to get anything like steady work I have to take what the doctors offer. Some weeks I scarcely make anything—other weeks twenty-five dollars, and sometimes fifty. Last year my weekly average was a little over twenty dollars. I could hardly make ends meet," she concluded.
"Well, I should think as much!" exclaimed Parkins, with a frown at the ways of humanity. "How would you like to become housekeeper for me at fifty dollars a week, with all you can eat, and a Christmas present for good measure?"
"Are you married?" she asked as if doubtful upon that point.
"No, not yet, but I'm soon to be married—and to the sweetest little lady in the land. We would have been married now but for the accident. We were on our way to New York, eloping, as a matter of fact, although her father was along. We were going to surprise him by suddenly going to The Little Church Around the Corner, and with him as a witness, have the ceremony performed. He would have been delighted," said Parkins, with enthusiasm.
"Surely he would—and a lovely surprise, indeed!" replied the nurse, gaily. "Was she hurt very badly?"
"No, just shocked, I gather from listening to the doctors. She's out and around, and the place she is stopping is beautiful—just look out of that west window into those grounds. See the big white mansion through the opening? Well, the man that owns that home is many times a millionaire, and I am Vice President of the company in which he made all his money."
"You don't say!" exclaimed the nurse.
"Yes, he is the one who picked us up after the wreck—he and Mr. Sawyer were out for a drive. Villard took the girl to his home and I was brought here. The doctor said it would be best not to have two invalided people in the same house."
"Well, that's a fact, especially when they are so close to one another," replied the nurse thoughtfully. "But it won't be long before you will be ready to go your way. Of course you will take the little sweetheart along."
"Your last cent can go on that," replied Parkins. "But we're going to fool them, just the same, as soon as I can get out of this—and I'm almost ready now. We are going to elope, and this time her father will be none the wiser until it's all over. He is pretty much broken up over the accident, but the home he is in is a dream, so he'll be happy there until we come back for him—See? He knows I'm rich, and that I have a big standing in the business world."
"How will you manage so grave a matter as an elopement?" inquired the nurse, soberly.
"I'll think it out—oh, now that you are going to be our housekeeper, and all that, you can help us easily, and no one will ever know it," concluded the patient, his face lighting up as if inspired.
Parkins knew how to smile, and to appear the soul of honor. The nurse, Mrs. Duke by name, as given to him by Dr. Benton when he introduced her, at once approved him.
"I might be helpful, and would be willing to aid, but I wouldn't want to be left here to be blamed for it," said she soberly.
"Why, that's easy to avoid," said Parkins. "During your daily exercise, manage to meet her, and get acquainted. But don't tell her of our plans, because she is a nervous little soul and might see difficulties in the way. Naturally she'd want her father along, but that would spoil the elopement," said the patient, with a sly wink.
"I see that clearly, but what about me? I——"
"I was just going to tell you what to do. First, get acquainted with her, and on a certain day I'll have a car waiting at a certain place near by. As you walk along with her you could suggest a pretty place you'd like to have her see. When she arrives there the car will be waiting, and you and my sweetheart will jump in, and away you'll go. Meanwhile, as the car passes this place I will be where I can jump in and become manager of the affair."
"I'm so afraid of anything like that!" exclaimed Mrs. Duke. "We might be arrested."
"Oh, pshaw! Nothing of the kind. She's of age—she loves me—and we are going to be married! The only thing I'm afraid of is that the old bachelor who owns the place where she is now might want to marry her, and she is so sweet and obliging, her father might coax her into marriage with this man Villard," explained Parkins.
"Villard! Is that his place?" asked the nurse, sharply as she again looked out upon the beautiful home.
"Yes, it's worth a couple of millions, including the land and beach property," replied the patient.
"Why, he was the man over here last night, was he not?"
"That was Drury Villard. You saw how friendly he was with me, and how concerned he was about my condition, and everything."
"Yes, indeed, a fine looking man—but too old for that sweet little girl," said the nurse, shaking her head in deprecation of even the thought of such a match. "He may be a nice man, and all that, and seems kindly, but an old man's love is no love at all, so I'm going to help the girl to escape such a fate," she concluded, shaking her head as she meant it.
"And if you do, I'll give you one thousand dollars in cash!" whispered Parkins, as the nurse looked into his eyes.
They held true, disclosing not the least appearance of deceit. Whereupon Mrs. Duke nodded her head affirmatively.
"I'll do it," she said, "and if you don't mind, I am going out for a little fresh air"—all of which was accompanied by a knowing smile—the smile of a skillful accomplice.
To Mrs. Duke a millionaire was a living crime. Want, perpetually barking at her heels, gave her no charity of feeling toward the rich man—his kith or his kin. She likened such men to a huge net stretched across the river of life to which human souls were drawn unerringly by man-made currents, until caught in the meshes and held in despair. Naught but death could come to their rescue.
To her, the knowledge that a man of William Parkins' goodness of heart could be accounted a chattel of the great Villard was unthinkable. As she walked along among rare trees and flowered bushes her heart turned cold and her eyes dilated indignation at the inequality of human destinies. Had she but known the man, his kindly nature, his open purse, and great benefactions, her hatred of Drury Villard would have been turned into admiration. Good woman that she was, her intuition had failed her in her estimate of Parkins' veracity. She had yet to learn the depravity of the man, who, by the mere use of five magic words—"one thousand dollars in cash"—had won her hatred toward the best friend he ever had.
So far as Mrs. Duke was concerned it was easy to meet up with Winifred Barbour. The girl loved to look upon the waters of the bay, and during her convalescing days she sat for hours on the sands of the beach and breathed the ozone borne in upon the breezes from the great Atlantic. She had wondered about Parkins, still bedfast, but no inkling had come to her ears of his perfidious intentions toward herself. No gentleman of Villard's high ideals would have failed to shield the innocent young woman from a knowledge of the perfidy of the man—but the nurse had not been taken into account.
Mrs. Duke instinctively knew Winifred at first glance. There she was seated upon the sands, gracefully poised and tossing pebbles into the waves.
"Why, bless me!—aren't you Winifred Barbour of Patchogue?" inquired Mrs. Duke, smiling down upon the girl.
"Yes, that is my name, and Patchogue is my home. Won't you sit down and listen to the roaring tide coming in? I adore the splashing of the waves! I do not remember meeting you before," she added, as if in apology.
"Indeed, I will sit down—it is such a charming spot. You would hardly remember me, for I left Patchogue years ago, when you were a very sweet little girl. I begin to recall your features. I am Mrs. Duke."
"Do you live in this vicinity, Mrs. Duke?" asked Winifred, politely.
"No, indeed, sorry as I am to say it. I'm too poor for that—I am at Mr. Sawyer's at present," said she, as if it didn't matter particularly where she was.
"Oh, indeed! Some one ill there?"
"Yes, but improving very fast. It's a man, thank goodness—a brave man, too. I seem to prefer to nurse a man, for they are so much more patient than women. Not so delicate, you know, and they have more fortitude. But I must confess I've nursed women, too, who were remarkable!" exclaimed Mrs. Duke. "Do you live hereabouts?" she asked in a naïve sort of way.
"No, I still live in Patchogue," replied Winifred, dreamily. "It is so beautiful here, almost like heaven. I wonder if one could always be happy with every craving of the heart entirely satisfied?"
"Positively not, unless the right man is at hand. The man I'm nursing now is such a gentleman! Oh, dear—a week or so, and away he goes to his home of plenty, while I go back to my poor little tenement. Rents are so awful, aren't they?"
"We have never rented—father and mother always owned a little home, and since she died, we've continued to live there. I love the little place!" said Winifred, looking far out beyond the bay.
"Of course you do, my dear child," purred Mrs. Duke, arising to go back to her charge. "I hope I'll meet you here to-morrow, Miss Barbour, when I come out for my airing. It's desperately trying to have no one to talk to."
"Thank you, Mrs. Duke, I'll try to be on hand," was Winifred's reply, as the nurse sighed and arose to go.
"That's a dear—you can't imagine the dreariness of a life like mine," sighed the nurse, turning to go.
On hearing Mrs. Duke's story, Parkins' mind fairly sizzled with plans. It was a case of now or never so far as Winifred was concerned. He figured that no matter how much she might be frightened at the plans he had in mind, that she would calm down, once she saw how much he really cared for her—and the risk he took to save her from the fate of becoming the bride of a man so many years her senior.
"Youth for the young—age cannot hold out against it," he soliloquized. "Now for a plan of action," said he, in lowered voice, to Mrs. Duke.
"Take these memorandums, please," he whispered, reaching under the top mattress. "Read them carefully, and by all means live up to them. Go to your room and lock yourself in while you memorize each item of the plan. Now is the time—quick!" he whispered, his eyes afire with suppressed excitement.
Mrs. Duke was amazed at the skill of her patient. She read the pages thrice over, each time in a whispered monotone, her lips moving rapidly. The instructions read:
1. During your afternoon walk, go to telephone booth in Murray's Wayside Lunch Room—half a mile east, on the opposite side of the Motor Parkway.
2. Call up Daniel McGonigal—Murray Hill 10011—be sure that you talk to Dan—no one else—tell him who you are, and whom you represent. Also tell him about the accident.
3. Read him the note addressed to him.
4. If he seems uncertain tell him its $500 if successful; $250 if we lose.
5. He is to have a high-power limousine at the beach end of the private road on the east hedge line of the Sawyer home—to-morrow morning at eleven sharp—with instructions to take on two women—if not there to wait one hour—then go home. You will be the other woman.
6. The driver to be accompanied by a uniformed assistant who will sit beside him unless you need him inside—if there is a struggle.
7. You will meet the girl at the beach on your morning walk, same as to-day. If she doesn't show up within an hour—come back.
8. If she comes, suggest a walk, east along the beach—for fine view of wonderful gardens—not to be seen in any other way.
9. My room faces right for full observation—I will be in readiness to escape, and will be at the Parkway corner by the time the car arrives. If I fail, go on without me to Herman's—the chauffeur will know.
10. Reassure the girl—soothe her—tell her of my great love—and don't forget the $1000 you will receive—if successful!
Thus was disclosed to Mrs. Duke the processes of the Parkins' mind, and—"Wonderful!"—that was her thought as she tucked the instructions in the bosom of her dress. She gloried in the part she was to take in defeating the purpose of the rich Villard—and later on—when taking her fresh air ramble she walked into the booth at Murray's and telephoned McGonigal.
At first he refused the job, but finally relented upon the grounds of old friendship. The price was too low for the job, even if it turned out to be a mere elopement. He very much doubted that version, for he knew Parkins too well. But Mrs. Duke succeeded in every way and arrived back in the sick room with triumphant eyes and a thumping heart.
"You have served me well!" said Parkins, patting the hand she laid on his forehead in search of fever.
There was none, whereat her eyes beamed with delight.
"To-morrow," he continued, "is a fateful day for both of us. It means joy or sorrow. I'm putting all of the 'eggs in one basket'—we must win or die! Villard is not asleep! Neither is Updyke! They think I'm too ill to try anything—so we will show them a thing or two."
"I'll help you against that money shark to my dying breath," replied the nurse, her eyes envenomed with hatred for such as he. "The girl is yours—you saw her first, and no doubt she loves you. I'll see that you get her, too!" whispered the nurse with emphasis.
And so it came about that on the following day, around the hour of eleven, Parkins looked out upon Great South Bay from a window in a servant's chamber of Dr. Sawyer's home and what he saw thrilled him to the marrow of his bones. There they were, two women, easily recognizable, strolling leisurely along the shore line, stopping now and then to admire the beauty of the landscape. A closed car stood off a hundred yards or so at the foot of the east line road. One last sweep of his eyes and Parkins ran to his room and tore off the bath robe and pajamas, thus displaying the fact that he was all dressed and ready for action.
One hour later the Sawyer telephone rang and Villard's excited voice shouted for the master, who came forward forthwith.
"This is Villard, Dr. Sawyer. Have you seen Winifred?"
The voice, while familiar, hardly matched that of the owner of Dreamy Hollow.
"Not since yesterday—what is the matter? Anything wrong?"
"She's missing—can't be found on the premises—searched everywhere—all hands joining. We are simply groping in a blind alley. She walked over toward the beach about ten o'clock, according to Jerry, but that is the last thing known of her. He thinks the Parkins' nurse went over that way a few minutes afterward. Go up in his room, please, and see if the nurse has returned."
Villard's voice was husky and impatient, but when Sawyer returned and reported that neither Parkins nor nurse was to be found, and that a bath robe lay on the floor—also sleeping garments—his voice roared with anger.
"Where is Updyke's man?" he shouted, stifling the ominous forebodings that were boring in upon his brain.
"I'll see—hold the wire—and keep steady. Calm yourself, I'll be back in a minute," said Sawyer.
It was a long drawn-out minute, but the situation was clear. Updyke's operative had looked in on Parkins at ten minutes of eleven. The nurse was out for a walk. He came back and sat down on the west corner of the front veranda, and at ten minutes after eleven returned and found that the room was empty. The operative's first act was to inform the New York office from an outside phone, at Murray's, not a minute from the Sawyer home—by motorcycle. He was now carrying out Updyke's personal orders, which were—"Stick around until I phone you!"
One thing that had a bearing on the case was Dr. Benton's talk with Parkins, earlier in the morning. The Updyke man was in the sick room at the time the doctor made his call and heard everything that was said. Parkins pleaded to be allowed to take a walk in the garden. The doctor opposed the idea, and stated that the patient could not walk a hundred feet without falling in a heap. Also, that another week in bed was necessary before making an attempt. It was now quite evident that Parkins had been "playing 'possum," and had succeeded in fooling the doctor by his apparent weakness of voice, as he plead for out-of-door exercise.
"That's him all over!" panted Villard, as the particulars of the escape came to an end. "I'll talk with Updyke—that's all I can do. I'll see you later and let you know what I find out. Your help has been bully, as usual. Always grateful—see you later," said he, banging the receiver into place.
For a moment Villard stood mutely, with hands locked and eyes shut. Then, with the rage of a lion he sprang into action. Updyke's office was phoned, and "The Big Fellow" was on deck.
"I thought I'd be hearing from you pretty soon," said he, in reply to Villard's ring. "Don't worry—Sawyer's butler is one of my men—he got fooled the same as the rest of you. It shows that Parkins has more brains than one certain operative. I know one who is going to get shanghaied. The doctor's pessimism as to Parkins condition in the presence of my man simply threw him off his balance."
"Never mind the story, old boy. You did your best, but my Winifred is gone! She is in the hands of a villain!" shouted Villard.
"Well, keep your shirt on, old chap. Raving doesn't get you anywhere. My man got the news to me before you knew anything had happened—or Sawyer either. What more do you expect in an instant?"
The growl in Updyke's voice was becoming noticeable, as Villard started in to apologize.
"I'm just about crazy—don't mind what I say. What else"—but Updyke ignored the interruption.
"I'm making no promises, but I'm expecting quick results," he continued. "Parkins is still on the Island, and the big limousine from McGonigle's garage isn't a racing machine. It can't take to the woods like a small car unless there is an accomplice who knows the way. I have twelve motorcycle men out on the job, and three high-speed roadsters. Every ranger that can be reached by the Chief Forester will assist, and many secret service men are already alert. I expect to hear news any moment."
"Where do you think he will head for?" inquired Villard.
"I don't think—I know where he is going—but I don't know when he will get there? I'm not going to tell you now, anyhow. You'd go up in the air like a balloon," said Updyke with emphasis.
"Then tell me how you know he is going to a certain place. That will help some. You can see that I am almost crazy!"
"Well, then, brace up and listen. I called up McGonigle and asked him where Parkins was going in his big limousine and he fell for it. He stuttered, and hemmed and hawed, until I shouted a real message into his ear. I said, 'Talk quick or you will be in a hurry-up wagon on your way to police headquarters!' That's what did the business."
"What did he say to that?"
"My God! On what grounds can I be treated in such a manner, he came back to me, but his voice was broken. I had him all right, and he knew I had him. So I answered back—'Because you're an accomplice, and by turning in evidence that will help convict Parkins you will soften the charge against yourself.' Then I said I'd help him, most probably, but he must first tell me the story from beginning to end, or shift for himself."
"Terrible!" sighed Villard. "And he had sold himself to a counterfeit gentleman! I always thought well of McGonigle. I've known him for years."
"Well, to make a long story short, he told me everything—how Parkins' nurse had called him up, and told him of the plan, which was spoken of as an elopement, offering five hundred for a successful venture, and two-fifty in any event. Regarding Parkins as a rich man, and sporty, he took the offer. Now here is the real joker in the pack, and it shows that luck is still with me," laughed Updyke.
"Let's hear it," said Villard, in a voice less restrained.
"I had another matter on my slate having to do with McGonigle's garage, so I had sent one of my men over to apply for a job. He entered the place and found Mac all worked up because a man he had depended on to go out on a swell limousine job hadn't shown up. The upshot of it was that he took on my man and gave him a uniform to put on—one of the regular chauffeur turnouts. That's why I know that we're going to get Parkins, and get him soon."
"Henry, you are a wonder!—what is the next step?" demanded Villard, chuckling in spite of his fears.
"The next step is for you to go and sit down with your morning papers," shouted Updyke. "I've got other phones waiting on me."
"Just one thing more—tell me where he's taking her," begged Villard.
"What's the use? He won't get her there?"
"Tell me anyhow—I'm stronger when I know the worst," pleaded Villard.
Updyke hesitated. He loathed the thought of letting his friend know the truth. But finally, in a rasping voice, almost choking with the rage that he had been trying to conceal, Updyke replied:
"Well, if you must know, the car started for Herman's Road House—otherwise known as 'The Mad House.'"
With that Updyke threw his receiver on the hook, and asked his switch-board operator for the call next in line—but he was more than furious with himself for having yielded to Villard's entreaty.